Tag Archives: inner teacher

Thrice Great Hermes said, “For never … can an embodied soul that has once leaped aloft, so as to get a hold upon the truly Good and True, slip back into the contrary.”

This is a profound Law. Note he said ‘embodied’. He didn’t say ‘without the body’ (as in trance or nirvana). He said in effect, Leap with hands and feet into the heart of God. That is an osmotic shift in the atom of human consciousness as a whole. The membrane, the veil is semi-permeable. There is no way the sap of the Tree of Life can run back downward. The ascension pulls it through the cells; a vacuum which it must follow and flow into. Once you are through, you know that everyone comes through it sooner or later. There are certain old clothes which are impossible to wear. Love is no longer a thing of the movies.

Considering Chopin whom I am starting to sketch … his music was and is pure female opera song: his unique ability to let them out of his bag; his passion for singers, their lovely companionship and their voice which did such things. Perhaps he might admire but could not love a woman who did not sing? George Sand was probably not a singer (or perhaps she was?) – she called a spade a spade; her yang complemented his yin; they may have had deep Karmic business in their attraction field. One of the two sketches I did last night, while watching this video, is from hers of him. From their liaison in Majorca came the tender Preludes which I used to play and to love dearly. I have an old recording of Arrau playing them. In one of them he throws a fiery tantrum, and my father used to mimic in falsetto George’s shock: “Frederick!”

The journey up the Tree of Life through osmotic membranes is continuous, and there are obstacles – veils or resistances, a sort of grey chaos like my head-cold just now, through which the flowers spike their way. These things come in waves. When an inner contact is brewing, it brings some obscuring resistance to clear or blast off. Through the snot and tissues, the irrepressible florets … make a baby sneeze. The rising sap is a fountain of little fishes. Not one of them can turn round and go back to the sack. When the One which is ‘I’ reaches egg … PRESTO bellissima! Nothing is EVER the same again.

Generally speaking, the course of life is a series of these small hiccups. Perhaps jnana (wisdom) is a state where they all join up and nothing is the same again EVER, and it is always like this: the living and dying and letting go. Robert Adams in Arizona looked like this. He had no teeth when he said, “it has no end. No end.”

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I imagine the extra terrestrial intelligences which interweave with ours, have that form of expansion which to us is liberation. I imagine they move with our magidim and guardian angels easily, for the wavelength doesn’t limit the concepts. The Presence of the aumakua varies only by local interest from galaxy to galaxy. Holding my coloured lamp which invites them and rebuffs tricksters, I imagine them freely filling the spatial interstices in the room. I may not have the gift of seeing their forms, but perhaps I can converse receptively with their mystery.

Fred Hoyle wrote a novel (1950s) of a close approach to Earth, of this kind. When it connected to the intellectual brain only, it drove it insane. The acceleration which is pure Consciousness can however be contained in the breathing heart body: the heart or solar plexus mind (awakening silence which loves).

In this light, what is the accelerative frequency which plagues the human engineering at the present time, and where can it be accommodated? Food for thought!

It drives many of us insane, particularly those whose incentive is to destroy their neighbours and environment. These processes are cosmic eyeblinks; we endure their unfolding for decades and sometimes centuries. Into their unfolding the threads of millennia are drawn. Nothing of what is seen today can be interpreted unless we rise above it and get some glimpse of the landscape from elevation. The landscape looks like the Andean Nazca lines, criss-crossing the ridges and plateaux. To read this map would require a four-dimensional understanding of acupunctural meridians or the nadis of yoga, applied to the leylines of earth and through history’s points of intersection. An acceptance that the map is of that dimension assists the contact of Higher Mind with a tiny bee in the earth hive. Most accounts of Self knowledge say we should fall open into knowing nothing. Then that by which I am known, can get to work.

Meister Eckhart said, “God does his deepest work in the soul when she is at rest.”

The alchemical maxim is: Art begins where nature ceases to act. The Hermetic soul begins where human intellect lets go. I could study books about Nazca lines and Nadis, but I don’t wish to fill up my thought again with issues whose complexity generates karma by psychological default. I now see clearly the last twenty years since I suddenly downloaded a lot of knowledge and started to see. The light ‘grounded’ through some intense liaisons. It had to materialise.

In the olden days, the rishis sat under trees and went about their lives and adored the sunrise and their cows: their loving heart saw and knew the All, because it is in our DNA. This faculty has not changed, deep down. The sensitive veins to it are reopened, by keeping quiet. This is what the alchemists call, “the miners of the mountains”. It is all within us when we become still and look.

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Aruna is red fire,Achala is standing still,becoming a sacred hill, Arunachala, kind to kinewhose milk is the morning stream from Vedic stars.

The cow in Vedic hymn is sacred, pure light milked in pail by Upanishadic seers,and a drove of cattle clouds at dawn, are gods that glow around her rising star.

In countless talesthe un-created cracked the sky;but my silence of no angel’s feathers is drawn to see or sensesmall feathers fall in place,whether or not resolving.

1999, Poems of Eclipse

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It is the human predilection on the surface to keep busy. That is OK. Our bodies and our skills need location and exercise. Ramana Maharishi used to say that for those born in the west, to have to live the busy western mindset was their Sadhana or spiritual practice. For those born in the east, their Sadhana was through ashram discipline along Yogic paths. I sense the interplay and often collision of the western and eastern paths, permeated now by communication technology. Blavatsky brought them together in the 19th century; J Krishnamurti lived the way the eastern and western ways ‘clap hands’.

Yet further east I hear the koan: sound of one hand clapping. Koans are designed for the mind’s habit to fall apart; and the existential koan is Love.

This is a two-part post – a couple of mornings in my journal. I’d like to share with you, my inner journey to a Hermit in his cottage … one of the soul-Teacher’s archetypal faces. He feels like a personal ‘lighthouse keeper’, but actually he resides in our common ground. I like what he said to me, about bubbles and the river.

Here’s part one:

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Glade, 1986 – I painted this out of doors. Some of the slanting branches, verticals, and contours in the ground suggested a cube standing on its point. I called it “a tumbling cube”, long before discovering “the Cube of Space” – it was a way of entering, and seeing things. To the right, is a lens or an eye, looking in. I left it so, because it felt authentic at the time. Sometimes there is a dazzling gleam like that, through the branches.

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Preamble

In a guided meditation, You, my teacher … are whoever I wish you to be. Yours is the changeful face, when I lie on the grass today, watching the clouds as they break, disperse and unite : Master R? Ramana? Dr L? Yeshua? Sarah? Zofia …?

My drawings and and fantasy are wishful thinking, BUT – the contact made with an ‘answering activity’, is unmistakable. Your faces appear from the universal Self behind and beyond the mask. I am human and I love to love, to connect, to be inspired and change my mood. And I feel depressed, but my boat stabilizes as I sit down and start to write – I begin to feel connected again. The inner, deeper, higher plane comes to the daily habit like a fish. The love is touched. It is the height, the breadth, the depth …

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Solomon’s Cube

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There is a room of the soul, this thing and place that we are, with its symbols, diagrams and treasures, where we gather, where one of us lights the candle. It is ANCIENT and familiar. The perspective far outreaches the human monkey, and it just goes back and back.

The Magidim are guides and teachers of the Light. You are my convenient belief system; yet when I turn to you and ask, a certain perspective shifts; so you are Real, and not just what I believe. Through the interaction here in earth, you are more than the names and shapes in the clouds.

I long to apply the wisdom and understanding to daily life: my field. So my interest in astrology fades a little. I have on my plate two challenging situations for “the Compass”. I found from experience that when I peer at the astrology transits, it doesn’t really help my loved ones, though it gives me some perspective. So don’t waste energy. I am just looking.

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compass-musicians by masonicfind.com

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You are my underlying compass, you point to the north. This symbol gives me peace, through regions of despair or nonsensical hardship. There is more erosion … sorrows about the human race. My hope, energy and optimism diminish, and so I have to go deeper. I am SAD. It doesn’t matter. This too shall pass.

You rest in the fluid, trembling a little, like the Hanging Man, and point to magnetic north – the mysterious occult Earth of Uriel – the Fountain in the letter AYIN, meaning ‘the eye’. I feel a subtle Fountain of Life inside. You are the Compass, Compassion – the Crossroads.

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Grand Trine chart, 17 July 2013, 6.33pm London

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Last week, on Wednesday 17th, a Grand Water Trine of Jupiter, Saturn and Neptune came into resonance. Saturn is flanked by the Moon and Dragons head in Scorpio. Saturn is the elder, and the Moon is the young child. A Saturn-Moon contact is often found in the charts of sages and seers.

Jupiter in Cancer, his sign of exaltation, is flanked by Mars, Mercury and the Sun. With Sagittarius rising, there may be through 11th, 7th and 2nd houses, an easing of our relationships in the group soul, a ‘making room’. Neptune rides in his own ocean sign, Pisces. Jupiter in Cancer and Neptune in Pisces both suggest, “Think big.” The Grand Trine echoes last summer’s Grand Cross tension on the same date … in a profoundly auspicious way: a subtle Event, or butterfly-wing. Problems surface on the road, to be cleared, for the Way to blossom; then we wake one morning, and life is simpler. On the 17th last summer, I walked above the Chess river, swollen by the rains, and my pocket phone rang at that moment: a quarrel ended.

So open arms to the beautiful Grand Trine in Water signs, during this dry summer. The ‘frequency’ ripples through Earth’s subtle body; through the tiny limbed antennae that we are.

The Triangle and Tetrahedron are nourishing forms for the soul. Fresh water rises to cleanse my dark pond. To see these forms, to feel them to the life, I need to be at rest and alert. I become so, when I write … it floats. The Yogas converge, gently.

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The Journey

Name and face are immaterial; yet they are luminaries. About ten years ago, I was taught an interior journey to the Inner Teacher: as follows.

I ride a long way through the forest till I get to a small lake. In the lake there is an island. A boat awaits me. I scull across to the island, and the cool living water seems full of little fireflies like the stars.

I beach the boat, and walk up a path between fruit trees to the Hermit’s home – a cottage with very low eves and a blanket/curtain hung over the front door. The curtain is raised, and the Hermit appears … and this is yet another face in the clouds, a Celtic Merlinesque one, the merry blue eyes. He was nudging me last night. So here I am! It is as good a way as any, to come to the Inner Teacher. He is called Menes, the inner hermit soul in Avalon. But … in the sound of Avalokiteshwara which is like a river … he is my Boddhisattva. Here I rest, to take in the fragrance.

The eternal being stands at his door, an old bearded man in a grey stuff robe, and welcomes me. Bodhisattva. I’d like to be a bodhisattva, in the Buddha of compassion, those who come back to Earth to shepherd particular situations. It is what I do. But he stands at his door; it is hot and sunny outside … it is cool and velvety within. To me, he shines and I bathe. I stand and bathe.

Beauty is Elder wisdom. Silence, among the bees and birdsong. He keeps bees. There are hives. My heart is full of need, so I lay my head on his feet. Surrender the problem to the Holy One who IS the way, infinitely beyond my small parcel. Did I bring anything – an offering? I brought my heart with birds in it trapped, who want to fly. So we have an understanding: to open the cave of my heart for the birds to fly. It acts before words.

Soul talk is timeless … an instant. He lifts the curtain further, and we go inside. He offers me bread and honey, and water from the lake. The lake has many deep earth colours, and sometimes reflects the sunset or the dawn. The lake is the Mysteries, because when it is illumined by the sky, I cannot see below, cannot see into its depth. Everything is encircled by Mystery. Trust this – and don’t struggle to work things out.

The encircling Mystery as a fact of Life tends to subvert courses of study. They had their place and time. They trained the mind.

So – I ask him: How do I – or what is training my mind now? To keep the focus, the lens? To polish the smear of life’s perils and disturbance and grief from the window? Am I losing the plot? I feel I shed my securities, they drop away. My studies kept me happy, and still do, but to a lesser extent. My studies help concentration, but I am no longer acquiring knowledge.

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Ring on table, Rosicrucean Emblem 9

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He says:

“Do you want to stay in a bubble, or do you want to flow as the river? No course of learning is permanent. They are means to an end. The end breaks open the graduation cell, and you feel the world rush in. It bruises the nerve ends. I say to you – keep swimming with Providence. The landscape by which you find me, is roped and ridged with hills and valleys like water stirred by the wind, or ripples in the sand, or waves in the sea, the grain in the wood. The hills and valleys have woods, villages and fields. Convert the solid to fluidity: be at home in every element – the tumbling cube. Keep learning to listen, and ascertain your friend’s need, a situation’s need, without fussing and without suffering: be flexible. Be still. We assure you – you are never without our regard. You are never without the guide. You have not strayed. Where can you stray to?

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“The oak tree – with the red queen pulling Alice along – is too vast to be run past, however fast you run. The oak tree is your entire life and understanding.

“Consider this – study and working on yourself, has little time to stand and gaze at the oak tree in all its glory. Be this the lesson of the present year: stand, raise your head and look – a deer in the forest. We packed you full of learning. Now receive.

“Discard glamour, and embrace the Good.”

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I feel restored. I have the silver key – the stillness inside.

At this point, my silver key and the Hermit’s silver key are in touch, and converse; speech is unnecessary. There is mutual reflection – the Self. I am aware of his staff, the serpents, the caduceus, the quicksilver. In his cool dark room with scrubbed table and fireplace, these are potent as the Ankh, the staff of life. They nourish my soul. They are not clung to. They give. And they are FOR giving.

FOR give, you said?

“For giving.”

What you give … Will you please help me with my blundered talk in life? This needs more practice than anything. I get anxious and I say too much, trying to complete and make my point. Also, trying to make amends. Telling myself each time, to say much less, to keep it simple, the engine still gets flooded. What to do?

“It is like the oak tree. The oak tree is life. Keep going. Climb up it sometimes.”

It is time to leave now. I will be back. A heart-tune: a shared musical note … what is it? It is – and I guessed right – A-natural. Indigo-violet. The Intelligence of Administration: the GVPh or physical body in the trunk of the Tree: the World dancer: The Akasha Tattva is an indigo oval, with a darker one inside.

The Hermit in his greyish green earth mantle, is surrounded by the Akashic darkness. His foot treads a shining snow. He is secretly on the heights, even on a summer island lake, busy with his bee keeping. He has a honey smell. It is the nectar in the herb garden. Keep the little lamp alight. It has all I need, for the lamp is the Cube, the Seal of Solomon, a solar hexagon, directions of the Compass. The World Dancer is the Compass, high, deep, far and wide.

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Touch third eye. And return to the boat, and row back across the lake to the greenwood and my horse. And come down the Tree!

My tokens: triangle, tetrahedron, circumpunct – (the lake around the hermit’s house) – The deep root of the oak tree, planted so long ago, that it is all my life. The compass. The way to the north shows where the other ways are. x x

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Sun steed

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To be Continued /…

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My adventure invites fellow travellers. I am a poet, an artist and a seer. I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.

This blog is a vehicle to promote also my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books). Watch this space.